


A Moment of Levity

by the_obiwan_for_me



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, F/M, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Pre-Relationship, Year On the Run, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_obiwan_for_me/pseuds/the_obiwan_for_me
Summary: It's been six weeks since Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi left Mandalore with the young Duchess Satine. Tired of listening to his apprentice and the Duchess bicker, Qui-Gon sends them off to enjoy the latest village's summer festival.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	A Moment of Levity

**Author's Note:**

> What I need to do is write angst. What I want to do is write about Obitine dancing. So, I wrote about Obitine dancing.

“No, Master Jinn said we needed this kind.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes in frustration. _I’m one with the Force and the Force is with me_. He hoped the mantra would settle his unending annoyance at the young woman beside him.

“No, your grace, he said we needed this kind.” He gestured at a different stack of waterproof tarpaulins. The young duchess ignored him, continuing to rifle through the pile she had stopped at, looking for one that looked sturdy.

“I distinctly remember him commenting on needing a small one to hang our food,” she said, refusing to look up at him, but her voice low and sharp with her own annoyance.

Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation. “No. We need a larger one so we can have a second rain cover. He just finished telling us this!”

“I said we needed both,” Master Qui-Gon appeared behind them both. How such a large man could be so stealthy, Obi-Wan would never truly understand. “So, you are both, in fact, correct. However, you are both terrible listeners, and I suggest, considering your future occupations, you both work harder at talking less and listening more.”

Despite Qui-Gon’s benevolent soft smile and the mirth in his eyes, Obi-Wan felt duly chastened. “Yes, Master,” he replied, tipping his head in respect.

Duchess Satine seemed far less repentant. “Thank you, Master Jinn. I shall take your advice under advisement.” Qui-Gon chuckled at her response before turning back to Obi-Wan.

“It’s a lovely evening, Padawan, and the village is in high spirits.” He gestured toward the celebration dominating the middle of the expansive square. “Why don’t you take the Duchess for a turn around the dance floor.”

Obi-Wan looked toward the crowded, makeshift dance floor. The village’s night market and fair they had stumbled into seemed to be some celebration of the summer solstice. The happy crowds were good for blending in while stocking up on much needed supplies, having gone through most of them in the six weeks since taking the Duchess from Mandalore. The high spirits of the vendors made finding bargains easier, too. But Obi-Wan had not intended on joining in the festivities quite so blatantly.

“Master, I...I don’t know if that would be prudent.” He glanced over at the Duchess, who was studying him intently.

“Nonsense, Obi-Wan. You both could use a little levity.” He gently pushed them both toward the dancers. “I’ll continue the shopping. Go. Dance. Enjoy a bit of reprieve.”

Obi-Wan fought against the desire to roll his eyes as he walked off. “I saw that, Padawan.” Clearly, he did not fight hard enough.

He and the Duchess made their way to the edge of the floor and watched the dancers for a moment. “Do you even know how to dance?” The young woman asked, tucking a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“I quite doubt Master Qui-Gon would have sent me over here if I didn't,” Obi-Wan grumbled. The Duchess made a little sound of….what? Amusement? Skepticism? But refrained from replying.

The lively band finished the song and struck up another one. This time a waltz with a sweet, melancholy tune. Obi-Wan took the Duchess’ long, elegant hand in his and led her to a spot on the floor. “It’s a waltz,” he explained.

“Stars, I know it’s a waltz, Padawan,” she huffed in anger. Obi-Wan, far enough away from Qui-Gon to not get scolded, rolled his eyes, then stretched a bit into a dance frame, inviting the Duchess to join him.

To his surprise, the Duchess closed the distance between them, and settled into his frame with the well schooled discipline of a seasoned dancer, elegantly matching his frame with hers, their right hips brushing lightly.

Obi-Wan pushed them off down the line of dance, testing the waters with a few basic steps- progressives, box turns, natural turns. He was taken aback to find that the Duchess was not a soft, delicate thing, as he had assumed, but was made of lean, strong muscles. And that translated into her dancing. She didn’t drape herself in his arms, forcing him to carry her around the floor, but held herself, strong and resilient, while looking effortless and soft.

The Duchess glided along with him, dancing with him, unlike so many of the young women and men he’d been roped into dancing with over the years at state functions and parties. So many just wanting to be led, excited and entranced by the opportunity to dance with the handsome young Jedi. They often felt heavy and flat on the floor, forcing Obi-Wan to push them around instead of dancing with him. This was different. The Duchess was his partner, counter balancing him, moving smoothly out of his way each step, making it feel and look like they were dancing in perfect harmony.

He led her through an underarm turn, feeling bolder now. “I didn’t know Mandalorians could dance so well,” he said as he watched her move through the turn. He meant it to be light, but old habits die hard, and it came out sharper than he meant.

“We’re not savages,” she bit out. “Of course we dance.” She returned to his arms, seamlessly flowing back into her strong, elegant dance frame. Their heads turned away, as proper, each looking over the other’s shoulders, watching for traffic on the dance floor. “Though, our traditional dances are more reels than partner dances, typically.” They danced on for a moment before she spoke again. “I’m surprised monks like the Jedi are such accomplished dancers.”

For the third time that evening, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes like a petulant teenager. “Oh, for heaven's sake, your grace, we are not _monks_.” He turned her, shadowing her now, and led her into a traveling waterfall step. It looked especially graceful with her lithe, slim arms. “We’re taught to dance at the temple from a young age,” he explained, turning her and bringing her back to his arms. “Not only is it to help us in diplomatic settings, but it improves our footwork with our sabers, helps us think on our feet, and teaches us to work cooperatively.”

“Oh,” the Duchess said quietly, a note of surprise in her voice, not so well hidden as she probably would have liked.

They danced along quietly for the rest of the song, then broke apart as it concluded. Obi-Wan bowed slightly. “Thank you for the dance, your grace. It was most pleasant.”

She dipped ever so slightly in a curtsy. “Thank you, Padawan.” She was smiling, almost shyly. Obi-Wan offered her his arm to lead her off the floor, but she paused as the band began to play the next song. “Come on, Padawan,” she said, tugging at his elbow. “One more. I like this dance in particular.”

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. This was a much different song than the sad, sweet waltz tune. This was brazen and almost lustful. He nodded. “Alright, your grace.”

He turned, finding them a spot on the floor, and invited her into his arms. This song, this dance required a different frame. Their bodies weren’t so close but they faced each other squarely now, looking each other in the eye. He began to move them, following the rhythmical _slow, quick-quick, slow_ of the drums. They were comfortable now, more sure in each other’s movement, so they moved quickly from the simple box step into more complicated breaks and turns. The Duchess was light, graceful, beguiling, and Obi-Wan suddenly felt the need to concentrate especially hard on each step he invited her to take.

“It was my mother’s idea to teach me to dance,” she said suddenly.

“Pardon?” Obi-Wan led her through a complex set of turns before settling into a basic box step to hear her clearly.

“My mother learned partner dancing like this when she was young and had traveled to the Core Worlds for some of her education,” she explained. Her face bore a sad sort of smile, recalling fond memories. She had never really spoken much of her family in their time together, and Obi-Wan felt obliged to listen closely. “When my father courted her, she insisted he learn, too.” She laughed lightly. “He hated it, despite being quite good. He obliged her purely because he was absolutely gone for her.”

She fell silent for a moment. Obi-Wan led her in a circle around him, before gently tugging her back toward him, leading her back to his arms. “When I came along, she made a point that I learned, too.” She smiled again, a bit sadder than before. “And, here we are.”

“It’s a useful skill to have, I suppose, for a duchess,” Obi-Wan said dumbly. She hummed a little in reply, before casting her eyes about the dance floor, unwilling to meet his gaze. They fell silent. Obi-Wan marveled at the sudden openness the Duchess showed, and felt somehow honored that she shared with him. He knew very little of her past beyond what the brief regarding their mission had given them- a mother who had been killed a few years earlier, a father killed only weeks before their arrival, and an unnamed sibling, presumed dead.

The song ended, and they went through the ritual of thanking each other for the dance. Obi-Wan tucked her hand around his arm and led her off the crowded floor, back toward the market. “You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “I could teach you some of the Mando’ad reels, if you’d like.”

He glanced over at her as they walked. “I would be honored, your grace.”

There was a beat of quiet between them. “What was that song you were singing last night?” she asked. He could sense her studying his profile.

He flushed. “You heard that?”

“It was lovely.”

He chuckled bashfully. “It’s just a little song we’re taught in the creche. We sang it at the end of the day. It tends to stick in your head a bit.” He smiled at her, and admired how her blue eyes danced in the festive lights. “Do you sing? I could teach it to you.”

The faintest cloud of grief raced across her features, before she smiled. “I was never the singer in our family, but I can hold my own. I would love to learn that pretty little song.”

“As you wish, your grace,” he said, his smile broadening.

“Satine.”

“Pardon?”

“Call me Satine. It seems unwise to continue to call me your grace or Duchess when we’re supposed to be in hiding.” She squeezed his arm playfully and glanced up at him, looking a bit nervous.

“Very well. Then you should call me Obi-Wan,” he said with a chuckle.

Obi-Wan spied Qui-Gon’s head over the other revelers, and turned them toward him. Satine squeezed his arm once again before letting go at the sight of Qui-Gon. “Very well, Obi-Wan.”

“Splendid….Satine.’

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just wanted some soft baby Obitine and I miss ballroom dancing (thanks, COVID). So, this is what you get.
> 
> As always, I love my readers and think you're the best.


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